Thin Air
by threedays
Summary: A recently-deceased murderer pays a visit to the DuBois household, leaving Allison in danger, Joe in legal trouble, and Ariel in charge of her sisters.
1. Chapter 1

**Thin Air**_  
Chapter 1_

It had to be a dream. Even as the couple danced, the edges blurred, softened. The whole thing was too peaceful, too perfect -- the kind of dream you can't wake from when you first start trying. A happy couple danced on the edge of a cliff, mountains and rivers spilling lavishly below them. There were lights that may have sharpened into K-Mart, Wal-Mart, the gas station, mundane figures once the sun came up, but in the happy pre-dawn darkness they were sparkling like something magic.

The couple gazed into each other's eyes. Kissed. The man covered his wife's hands lovingly with his own, delighting in her warmth and softness. Their children played nearby, a safe distance from the precipice, deeply engaged in conversation -- something about the ethical considerations of spending money you found on the sidewalk. Laughter punctuated their serious talk as the little one chimed in and the older ones, united briefly in peace, enjoyed their baby sister's point of view. Smart girls, healthy girls with wit and intelligence, just like their mother. Joe gazed into Allison's eyes and smiled serenely.

Everything would be perfect if she would just stop whacking him in the shoulder.

"There's no music, honey," he said easily, spinning her, then pulling her in close. "You don't have to help me keep the beat."

WHACK. WHACK. His wife didn't answer and suddenly she wouldn't look at him. The children had stopped laughing. They were making a horrible racket somewhere nearby ...

WHACK!

Joe tried to gaze out across the scenery, but all he saw were tangled blankets and the alarm clock blinking like the power had gone out.

"Damn," he muttered, wrenched at last from the perfect dream. "I wouldn't have minded staying in that one a while, darlin'. I mean, we had our clothes on, so on a scale of one to ten, it couldn't have been higher than an eight. Still." He sighed a long sigh. "There was something really nice about it."

WHACK!

Joe blinked. "Allison, what --" he turned sharply toward his wife, who had been whacking him repeatedly on the shoulder for the last five minutes. He was all set to fuss at her for destroying his perfect dream when he laid eyes on her. Immediately the dream was gone. Allison lay tensely against the pillows, hands gripping at her throat. Her eyes were wide and frightened, focused on a point in the thin air above her.

"Allison!" He sat up abruptly, panic biting at his heart. The too-familiar sensation made him clumsy, made him fumble as he shoved back the covers. His hands covered Allison's in a sick skewed version of the dream he'd just had. "Al, what -- Allison! Breathe!"

Her eyes narrowed a little. He read, _Don't you think I would if I could?_

It seemed to him that she was choking herself, but when he pulled her hands away, the skin of her hands cold and papery under his touch, he found that the handprint bruises forming on her neck were bigger than his wife's hands. His shocked mind was working too slowly. There were hands there still, he realized. Hands that didn't belong to his wife.

"Let go!" His own hands dusted at her throat, shoving at some invisible danger. Eyes roaming the empty air above her, searching for a target. "Let go of my wife!"

Her eyes were wide again, panicking, burning into his, then rolling away in fear. Nothing to read there now but _Help me, Joe! Help me breathe!_

His panicked mind whirled backward to his inadequate first-aid training, years ago. "Choking victim," he muttered. "What do you do for a choking victim? Check for obstructions? Listen for breathing?" Useless when the obstruction was a ghostly grip, when the breathing sounds were replaced by gagging desperation. He snatched her from the bed, hoping to lift her from whatever death grip held her. He might have picked up the ghost along with her, for all the good it did. "Let go of my wife!"

"Mom? Mom, I had a d -- what --"

Joe spun with his wife in his arms, hope and dread etched in equal parts in his heart. Ariel stood in the doorway, gripping the molding with clenching fingers. Briefly Joe was reminded of the Ariel in his dream, laughing, playing with her sisters. Happy.

"Dad, who is that? Dad, make him stop!" Tears in her voice but not in her eyes. Absurdly it struck him then, of all times, how grown-up his eldest was getting.

"I can't see him." He said it abruptly, almost harshly. She had to understand that she was the only one who could help right now. "Ariel, I need your help. I can't see him."

She grew an inch or two in front of his eyes, and her own eyes narrowed. "Why are you doing this?" She caught on quicker than he would have expected and turned all her attention to the intruder in the room. A pause. Then, much more quietly, harshness in her own voice. "Well, I don't care what you -- fine -- Daddy, he says he wants his son."

"Well, why should we care what he -- Where's his son?" Changed the question mid-course, realizing the absurdity of the first. It didn't matter why, it only mattered how to stop him.

"He says his son is gone from the house because of Mom."

"I don't understand. What house?" In the agonizing moments it took for Joe to spit out his question, Allison stopped moving. Her eyes closed, her gasping grew less desperate as she lost the ability to fight the grip that held her. "Let go of her," he pleaded, somewhere between desperation and anger. "Let go and we can talk about this."

Ariel stepped closer and fixed her gaze on some point just between Allison and Joe. The confidence that she exuded, he had previously only seen from her mother. "Let go now or I won't help you find your son. If you hurt my mother, neither one of us will help you."

Seconds ticked by in agony and nobody moved. Then all at once, Allison gasped in a breath. Joe eased her onto the bed, stroking her hair, massaging her neck. "Al? Just breathe, honey. Just breathe." Anger and relief and panic all mixed up in his voice, in his head. His wife was breathing, but she wasn't moving. Her eyes stayed closed. "Al?"

"Go away." Ariel was still talking behind him. "When Mommy's better we'll help you. Go away now or we won't."

Joe could only assume his daughter's request had been fulfilled, because an instant later she appeared beside him at the bed.

"Is she breathing, Daddy?"

Sort of, he thought, crinkling his forehead in concern. He was only a rocket scientist; didn't know enough about the human body, about health. He felt like he was wearing a giant dunce cap with "Rocket Scientist" stamped on it, as useless as his knowledge was today.

"Ariel, honey, call 9-1-1," he said. "I'll stay with Mommy. Ariel --"

She was halfway to the phone, turned, hopeful.

"You did really good, honey. Mom's going to be so proud of you."

Brief, watery smile. For a moment, she looked younger, the way he wished she could stay. Then she was busy placing the awful call. Behind her Joe cradled his wife as he had in the dream, rocked her and stroked her as they balanced on a precipice. Her hands were growing warm, again, beneath his own. This time, though, no one was laughing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thin Air  
**_Chapter Two_

The voice on the phone, the one that was supposed to be soothing, belonged to a woman with brown hair who thought her boyfriend was going to break up with her. Ariel knew this as certainly as she knew her father was close to full-blown panic, and the knowledge did her just as little good. She wondered if her mother had ever been the type to twirl phone cords around her finger, back when phones had cords; her own fingers itched for something to fidget with while she waited, but it had been years since she had bothered with a phone that wasn't cordless. Must have been her mother's life her fingers were remembering.

Huffing out a heavy breath, impatient both with Miss Brown Hair and with her own inability to concentrate, Ariel sat on the edge of the bed, then immediately stood, unable to be still. "What's taking so long?" she demanded of the emergency operator. It must have been a whole minute already, maybe two, since she'd made the call.

"Help is on the way," Miss Brown Hair promised in this voice thick with practiced caring and rehearsed support. "Stay calm, Ariel. You're doing just fine."

"Who cares how_ I'm_ doing?" Ariel snapped, stomping her foot as if she were Bridgette. "It's my mother who's not doing fine!" She heard her voice rising desperately; heard, as if from a great distance, the way she was stubbornly trying to drown out the _other_ voice in the room.

Miss Brown Hair kept talking, but the other voice got louder, became more insistent in repeating her name.

"Ariel Dubois."

This was not Miss Brown Hair.

"Ariel, look at me, baby. We don't have much time."

"Ariel, how are you holding up?" _This_ was Miss Brown hair. "The ambulance should be at your house any minute. Are you okay?"

"Stop, I don't want to talk to you! Stop it!" Ariel hit the "off" button and threw the phone at the dresser. It clattered to the floor, taking a bottle of Advil and her father's alarm clock with it. "I'm not ready to talk to you like this!"

"Me either!" The other person in the room was just as stubborn, but it was the tears now evident in her mother's shrill voice that caused Ariel to finally turn and face her. Allison stood just behind Joe, out of his sight even if he could have seen her. "I don't want to do this to you, either, but, baby, we don't have much time!" Her eyes belied her words. She had all the time in the world, now. Ariel felt sick. She waited, quiet, digging bare toes into carpet. It was cold in the room, but she was sweating.

On the bed, Joe was attempting clumsy CPR. He wasn't actually crying, but Ariel could sense how close he was to it, how terrified he was. She inched closer to him, wishing she could run and hide behind him like when she was little, after a nightmare. This wasn't a nightmare, this was real and he couldn't protect her from what he couldn't even see. She stayed still.

"Ariel, it's going to be okay," Allison promised, glancing distractedly over her shoulder. "We only have a second, honey, so I need you to listen. You're doing so good. The man's name is Patrick Malmin. His son is Holden. Detective Scanlon will know who they are. You call him, Ariel, as soon as I leave. Tell him to put Holden in protective custody and don't let him anywhere near that house, no matter what. You tell him." She sounded so like herself for a moment, so like a stern mother telling her daughter to report to the algebra teacher exactly why she hadn't finished her homework, that Ariel was almost reassured. She tried to step closer, but it got colder in the room, so she stopped.

"Mom –"

"Ssh, Ariel. It's okay." Allison's eyes held hers for one silent, stolen moment. Then a violent cough from the bed drew Ariel's attention and when she looked back, her mother's ghost was gone. Through the whoosh of pounding pulse in her head, Ariel could hear her father whispering, "That's it, baby. That's my girl, Al." Allison drew another breath and Ariel sagged against the bed in cold relief, completely drained of the ability to move or think. One hand found her mother's and her cheek dropped onto her father's shoulder. He snaked an arm around her and they stayed this way for a moment.

Then a siren jolted two of them to action, spurred on by the fact that the third remained still. "Ariel, go," Joe said quickly. "Show them in, honey." He sat up, eased Allison up to a better position. Ariel ran, automatically lightening her step as she passed her sisters' room. At the door she met people in uniforms, professional confidence rolling off them in waves. For some reason, it turned her stomach. She ran two steps ahead of them back to the bedroom, an urgency beginning to build in her step. She needed to beat them to the bedroom, needed to keep a step ahead of them before they got the wrong idea – she wasn't sure what the wrong idea was, but she had a feeling she would find out soon –

But –

"Hey, what's the big idea?"

But of course Bridgette had to butt in, popping her head out of the bedroom door at exactly the wrong moment. Ariel had to pull up short to keep from knocking Bridgette over, and the paramedics and police swept past her as she stopped to deal with her sister.

Bridgette's eyes grew huge when she saw the emergency personnel. "What's going on around here?" She demanded in a voice not yet scared, but indignant. Something in her sister's voice made Ariel place a hand on her shoulder instead of smacking her in frustration like she had briefly considered. Urging her back into the bedroom, she closed the door behind them.

"Bridgette, I need you to stay in the bedroom for a minute."

"No way!"

"Bridge –"

"No way! What's going on out there? Why's everybody running around?"

"Bridgette –"

"No _way_, Ariel!"

Ariel's hands itched to follow their first instinct, but instead, she ducked to look her sister directly in the eyes. "Look. At. Me." She demanded, enunciating each word separately. Bridgette did, and suddenly the fight went out of her. When she spoke again, her voice was small and scared.

"Is Mommy okay?" She asked timidly.

"I think so."

"And Daddy?"

"I – I think so." This one less certain, because she, too, was feeling the new wave of panic from their father, panic and indignance and confusion. "Bridge, please stay here with Marie. I'll go find out what's going on."

"But I want to –"

"Bridgette! Don't make me lock you in here again!"

Bridgette's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't dare!"

Ariel raised her chin defiantly. "Oh, wouldn't I?"

Bridgette's lip quivered as she protested, "But Mommy said you would be in big trouble if you did."

"Well, Mommy's a little busy right now." Involuntarily, Ariel shivered. It was this, more than anything, that made Bridgette step back.

"Well, I guess I could stay here and watch Marie," she said with an air of importance. "I mean, if you really need me to."

Ariel bit her tongue, then gave in. "I really do." Then added "please" for good measure.

"Okay," Bridgette agreed. "But don't you dare touch that door, Ariel DuBois!"

"I have to touch it to get out it," Ariel muttered, biologically unable to let her sister have the last word. She closed the door against Bridgette's protests and trotted back down the hall toward her parents' bedroom.

Halfway there, she met her mother being brought out. There were paramedics with her, but Joe was absent. "Where's Dad?" Ariel demanded, partially of her unconscious mother and partially of the emergency personnel, not sure who was more likely to answer. She felt a desperate loneliness that didn't come from inside her, and tried to take her mother's hand, but they were moving too quickly, the paramedics talking back and forth and ignoring Ariel.

There were voices still in the bedroom, so with a last glance at Allison, Ariel turned to help Joe instead. Her forehead wrinkled in confusion as she entered the bedroom.

"... can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided ..."

The words were so familiar from TV that it took Ariel a moment to register that they were actually being said, in real life, in her parents' bedroom. And another moment still to process who it was they were being said to.

Joe's angry, panicked gaze met Ariel's and he immediately forced himself to calm, but only just. She could feel the frustrated rage and fear boiling off him as he said, "Oh. It – it's okay, honey."

"Daddy –" She regressed a year or two in age. "What are they doing?" Clearly her father had done nothing wrong; what was the matter with these people?

"It's going to be okay, Ariel."

"Just what is it they think you did?" Ariel asked, her tone growing hostile as she processed the situation.

Joe closed his eyes briefly and opened them older. "Honey, they couldn't see him any more than I could –"

"But he was here!" Ariel's voice rose as she stepped toward the two police officers and her father. "_I_ saw him! It wasn't my father! It was a man – it was – it was –" She racked her brain for a name. "Malmin. Patrick Malmin. It wasn't my father!"

Joe's forehead wrinkled and Ariel hoped he wouldn't guess how she knew the name. One of the officers placed a hand on Ariel's shoulder and she shrugged it off, hard. "You're arresting the wrong person!" she accused.

"We just need to ask your father a few questions," the officer said like he was talking to a six-year-old.

"Detective Scanlon," she replied hotly, stumbling after as her father was escorted away from her down the hallway. Her father was still talking, too, demanding to know what would happen to his girls. His voice dropped automatically as he passed Bridgette and Marie's bedroom door. Praying her sister would leave the stupid door closed, she sidestepped so she would be blocking Bridgette's view if the door did open. She could hear her father's voice pick up again in the kitchen, pleading to know what would be done with his children. She couldn't hear the answer.

"What's that, miss?" One detective stayed behind, obviously uncomfortable at her assignment dealing with the children.

"I want to talk to Detective Scanlon."

"Your name is Ariel, right?" The detective questioned. "Ariel, if you calm down, we can talk about –"

Ariel slapped her hands over her ears, taking another page out of Bridgette's book. Raising her voice, she screamed, "I want to talk to Detective Lee Scanlon! Don't talk to me again if he's not here!"

Then, with one last desperate glance in the direction her father had gone, Ariel spun and stormed into her sisters' bedroom, locking the door behind her.

Catching her breath for long moments, she slowly looked up to find Bridgette and Marie standing inches away, arms crossed over their chests, identical demanding expressions on their faces.

"Like I said," Bridgette demanded in her sassiest voice, "just WHAT is going on around here?!"

Ariel closed her eyes and sagged against the door. "I think I just got us in big trouble," she admitted.

"Well, that is why you should have let me come with you," Bridgette gloated. "_I_ wouldn't have gotten us into trouble."

Ariel stared at her sister in disbelief. She was about to respond when a knock on the door made all three of them jump.

"Girls?" The detective's voice came, muffled, through the wood.

"Don't answer," Ariel said hotly, and, taking both sisters by the hand, she led them firmly away from the door. "Pick a book, Marie. This might take a while."


	3. Chapter 3

**Thin Air  
**_Chapter 3_

The phone had barely stopped ringing by the time it started ringing.

Without lifting his face from the pillow, where he had unceremoniously plopped it only ten minutes before, Lee Scanlon felt around in the darkness for his phone. Moments later, it miraculously appeared in his grip. Opening one eye, he saw that Lynn had picked it up and dropped it in his hand, looking every bit as irritated as he felt. Turning over with a sigh, she pulled the covers up higher and ceased to move. Lee liked her idea better, but his hand seemed to have a problem not answering the phone even when his brain saw the logic in ignoring it.

"'Scanlon," he muttered, laying the phone on his ear.

"Detective Scanlon, this is Detective Sherman with Family Crimes. I've got a situation at a crime scene involving some children who apparently know you."

This was too odd a statement, and at too early an hour, for Scanlon to make sense of it. Sitting up slowly, rubbing a hand across his squinting eyes, he shook his head once to clear it. "Come again?"

"I'm supposed to be questioning three children who witnessed a crime and then delivering them to social services until relatives are located. Unfortunately, I'm unable to do that because the children have locked themselves in a bedroom and, from the sound of it, are reading Dr. Seuss books over and over at a high volume. When I knock, they ask if you're here yet. When I say no, they just read louder." She sighed, her frustration with the petulant children obvious in her voice. "This is not how I wanted to spend my Saturday. Should I break the door down?"

"Should you – No, you shouldn't break the door down! Tell me who we're talking about here. You say these kids know me?"

"Their name is DuBois," she said, then added in disgust, "The eldest, Ariel, seems to be the ring-leader."

Lee didn't notice that he was suddenly standing. Lynn moaned and pulled the blanket up all the way over her eyes. In a single word – DuBois – Detective Sherman had turned the situation from confusing and vaguely amusing to something that made the pit of Scanlon's stomach turn to ice.

"What the hell are you doing taking the DuBois girls to social services? Where are their parents?"

Lynn sat up in bed.

"Sad story," Detective Sherman sighed. "The husband attacked the wife in her sleep. The eldest girl saw the whole thing, at least as far as we can tell. We know she's the one who called 911."

"The husband attacked – You're still talking about the DuBois family, right? Allison and Joe?"

A pause while she checked something. "Yes."

"You're saying Joe DuBois attacked his wife?"

"Yes."

Scanlon laughed one short, derisive laugh. "Well, _that's_ not what happened. What else you got?"

"You know these people?"

"Is Allison all right?"

"She was taken to the hospital. I don't know the particulars of her condition."

Lee balanced the phone on his shoulder as he pulled on his jeans and started working his feet into his shoes. Lynn, too, was dressing, her eyes never leaving Lee and her forehead wrinkled in concern.

"Detective Scanlon, are you going to be able to help? Because, frankly, if I can't question the girl soon, I'm going to have to –"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, you're going to have to nothing. I'm on my way. Just stand there and try not to get anything else wrong until I get there."

Detective Sherman sighed, long and loud, and hung up. Lee dropped his phone in his pocket and grabbed his jacket. "I'll explain in the car," he said over his shoulder, breaking into a jog.

By the time they reached the DuBois household, a full five minutes faster than they would have if they'd gone the speed limit, Lynn knew what Lee knew, which was next to nothing. From the outside, it looked like just about every light in the DuBois house was lit. Lee didn't bother knocking.

"Detective Sherman?"

A sour-faced detective met him in the kitchen. "Detective Scanlon, thanks for coming. I don't know what to do. They've now taken to singing 'The Wheels on the Bus' at the top of their lungs every time I try to talk to them." She ran a hand through her hair and sighed sharply. "I'm never having kids."

If the circumstances weren't so alarming, Lee would have smiled at her description of the girls. He had gotten several chances over the years to meet and spend time with and occasionally even work with Allison's girls. He had spent enough time with them to know that they were very like their mother.

The thought of Allison focused his mind on the present. "How 'bout you tell me what happened."

"Like I said, we think the husband attacked the wife. He was the only person in the house strong enough to have inflicted the injuries and there was no sign that anyone else was in the house. Windows locked from the inside, door locked, the other two children asleep in their beds, no sign of a struggle, no sign of forced entry. The detectives who went over the house said there was no sign of anything besides a domestic dispute. Even the husband admitted he didn't see anyone else. The problem is, the only witness is the kid and the kid isn't talking. Unless you consider bellowing 'the people on the bus go up and down' at a very high pitch to be talking."

Lee liked this detective less and less with every word she spoke. Making eye contact with Lynn for a moment, he then continued through the house toward the girls' bedrooms. Behind him he heard Lynn continue to question the detective's account and silently thanked her for picking up on his cues. He didn't want the detective with him when Ariel tried to tell him what really happened.

He felt funny making his way through the DuBois household at this early hour and without an escort. Like a trespasser, like a thief. He wondered if he should have taken off his shoes. The carpet in the hall, usually clean except for an occasional toy or dirty sock, was already tracked up with filth from all the shoes that had traipsed through tonight. He found himself absurdly struck by the desire to vaccuum before Allison had a chance to see her ruined carpet.

He wasn't sure which bedroom was which, but there was no mistaking which room the girls had barricaded themselves in. They had moved on from "The Wheels on the Bus" and were now singing "This Old Man" faster and faster with each verse. He heard the little one giggling uncontrollably and wondered how much she had seen and heard. How much she might know without seeing and hearing. She sounded okay. Maybe she didn't know too much.

His knock brought the song to an abrupt halt, with only a couple of "sshhh!"s to signal that the girls had heard him.

"Is he here?" Ariel's voice called out a second later.

"If by he, you mean me, then yes he is," Lee called back.

Immediately the door was flung open and he found himself face to face with three very blonde, very intense children.

Looking behind him, Ariel motioned him inside and closed the door firmly once he was in, clicking the lock. "I don't want the other detective coming with you," she said in a rush.

"That's fine. I think the other detective is busy being questioned in endless circles by my friend Lynn."

Ariel smiled a tiny bit, just one corner of her mouth. "Thanks for coming," she said quietly. Her voice was two thirds polite shyness and one third fake calm. He could sense panic in her that he didn't see in the other two girls. Hopefully that meant they hadn't seen what Ariel did.

"Always happy to visit," Lee assured her. "So you wanna tell me what happened here tonight?"

"Just – not what the other detectives think happened," Ariel said in half a whisper. Glancing over her shoulder, she shifted uncomfortably. "Can we – can we go in the other room to talk?"

"Hey, wait a second!" Bridgette wailed. Obviously Ariel's request to exclude her was one too many hardships tonight. "You can't leave us here! We want to know what happened, too!"

"Yeah!" Marie echoed, bouncing on her toes.

Ariel looked pleadingly at her sisters. "Marie, pick out another book," she said to her littlest sister. "It can be any book you want, even one of the ones we said we were never reading again. Even _The Pigeon Wants a Puppy."_

"_Pigeon Wants a Puppy_!" Marie squealed in delight and ran to the bookshelf as Bridgette clasped her hands to her forehead in despair.

"Not _The Pigeon Wants a Puppy!_" she wailed. "We've read that book a _hundred times!"_

Ariel lowered her voice and leaned closer to her sister. "Bridgette, I really need you to do me a favor. I need you to babysit Marie while I talk to Detective Scanlon."

"But Mommy says I'm not old enough to babysit by myself yet. Even though I'm practically in double digits and I'm perfectly capable of taking care of the baby. Mommy says I have to wait till I'm eleven. Or even twelve!"

Ariel smiled a conspiratorial sort of smile at her younger sister. "Well, here's your chance to prove to Mommy just what a good babysitter you can be. If you take care of Marie for me, I'll tell Mommy what a good job you did and maybe she'll let you start babysitting. She might even raise your allowance for it, if you _really_ do a good job."

Bridgette straightened visibly. "Hey! That's not a bad idea!"

Ariel nodded with half a smile for her sister. "Good luck," she told Bridgette. "Marie can be a tough customer sometimes."

"Hey, there's no customer too tough for me! I'm going to be the world's best babysitter!" Bridgette declared. Strengthened by her decision, she skipped toward Marie. "Did you find _The Pigeon Wants a Puppy_ yet? I think it's just about time we read that book again, don't you?"

"Yeah!" Marie squealed, holding the cherished book high above her head. Lee watched them for a moment, then watched Ariel watch them. She had a wistful look on her face and for a moment looked so like her mother.

Then she turned to him. "We can go in my room," she said, a little shyly. "It might be messy."

Lee smiled. "No messier than mine," he reassured her, following her down the hall. Her room was actually neat for a teenager's, adorned with movie posters and fluffy pillows and lots of bright colors. It was sort of like walking into a Disney film, not the kind with cartoon characters, but the kind with teenagers attempting to prove themselves. He didn't think Ariel needed help in that department; she seemed to be proving herself just fine in her mother's absence, taking care of the kids, contacting who she needed to contact, frustrating and manipulating a police detective. Her mother was going to be proud of her.

Ariel sat in her desk chair and folded her knees up to her chin. For a moment, she wouldn't make eye contact. Lee sat on the edge of her bed and leaned on his knees. He gave her a moment to collect herself before he said gently, "You did good with your sisters."

Ariel raised her chin and a tear shook loose and rolled down her cheek. "I don't know how much they know," she said. "They seem pretty calm. I don't think – I don't think they know very much about – what happened."

Lee didn't want to push her, but time was passing and the picture that was being painted in this house tonight was not a pleasant one. "What did happen, Ariel?" he asked.

A second tear followed the first. "My mom said I should call you. She said you would know what to do."

Relief flooded Lee and his shoulders sagged. Thank god, he thought. Allison was awake and talking. The impression everyone had given him was that it was more serious than that.

Ariel, though, obviously did not share his relief. She stared at a spot on the carpet as a third tear followed the second.

"Your mom's talking, then?" Lee prompted. "She's awake?"

Ariel looked up at him, biting her lip for a moment as she shook her head, whispered, "No."

Lee didn't understand for a moment, and then he did. And when he did, he felt a wave of nausea wash over him and had to steady himself on the bedframe. "Aw, hell," he said. "She talked to you another way?"

Beginning to cry in earnest, Ariel swiped hastily at her cheeks. "I think she ... left ... for a minute. In her bedroom. Dad was trying to wake her and he couldn't – he couldn't see her – She told me to call you. She said the man's name – the attacker – and said you should keep his son away from that house no matter what. She told me to call you and then Dad got her to start – to start breathing again –" Ariel covered her face with her hands. She seemed younger than Bridgette when she cried.

Lee had absolutely no idea what to do or say, but he pushed ahead anyway, struggling to assimilate this new information. His friend Allison had been dead tonight. Just for a minute, but still.

"Ariel," he said, forcing his mind to focus on facts. "Who was he? The man who hurt your mom? Did you see him?"

Ariel looked up at him and in the space of one heartbeat went from looking younger than her baby sister to looking as grown-up and wise as her mother. "Oh, yeah," she said just above a whisper. "I saw him."

"Did you recognize him?"

"No."

"What was the name your mom gave you?"

"Patrick Malmin. He's looking for his son."

Lee forced his features to remain blank, as though he had never heard of Patrick Malmin. Just below the surface, he felt the same panic burning in him that was evident in Ariel's features. Of all the ghostly visits Allison DuBois could have gotten in the night, a visit from Patrick Malmin was the one he would have wished on her the least. The man was violent. Cruel. It was not a term Lee Scanlon used much, but he had no hesitations pinning 'evil' on this man. Patrick Malmin had murdered his ex-wife and her family, then kidnapped his son. It was thanks to Allison that the boy had been found alive, his father killed in the process. Lee did not fancy the idea of Patrick Malmin in spirit form.

"I tried to tell the police," Ariel whispered. "I tried to tell them about the man I saw, but they wouldn't listen. They kept saying that even my dad didn't see anybody." She shrugged helplessly. "And it's true. He didn't. He _couldn't._ He told me that when I first entered the room. He said he couldn't see the man and I was going to have to help."

"_You _spoke with Malmin?" Lee moved to stand, but stopped himself.

"I asked him what he wanted and he said his son. I told him to let go of my mother or we weren't going to help him. He did. He let go of her. But he wouldn't leave. I finally threw him out. I said we weren't going to help till Mom felt better."

Running his hands through his hair, Lee squinted at the ceiling for a moment before instinct kicked in. "All right. I'm going to call social services, get Holden Malmin under protection. Then I'm going to take you girls with me. I think Detective Sherman's had all she can handle of your little sisters tonight, and I suspect you and your sisters feel the same way about her. Anyway, I'd just feel better keeping the three of you in my sight tonight." He stood. "I'm also going to contact some people and see what can be done for your father."

He stopped moving again when Ariel spoke, this time in a different sort of voice. "Somebody needs to be with my mother." Her eyes slid away from his, settled on a point in the thin air between them. "She's scared. She doesn't want to be alone."

They were silent for just a moment longer than they should have been, both their minds lingering on Allison. They were so quiet, the scream almost seemed supernatural for a moment.

Then Ariel leapt from her chair. "That's Bridgette," she said tensely, yanking the door open. In two steps, Lee caught up to her and caught her by the shoulders. "Wait here," he demanded, sidling past her.

"But –"

"Wait here," he repeated urgently as another shrill scream pierced the night. Lee reached for the doorknob, his motions rough with equal parts urgency and dread. He wasn't sure what he might find and he wasn't sure he wanted to be the one to find it, but he didn't have much of a choice. Drawing a deep breath and his gun in a single motion, he pushed the door open.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thin Air**

_Chapter Four_

"Ssssh! I think she's coming!"

Bridgette tumbled backward into her baby sister, eyes huge, as footsteps creaked their way down the hall. Sure, she talked tough, but she did _not_ want her big sister to catch her eavesdropping, especially not using a technique Ariel herself had taught her. She hastily hid the drinking glass under the edge of the bunk beds, convinced that eavesdropping would not be considered good babysitting.

Clumsy in her haste, she half-carried, half-dragged Marie back to the bunk bed, where _Are You My Mother_ waited open to the middle, as if they had been reading it the entire time.

"Hey!" Marie protested.

"I'm only trying to keep us out of trouble!" Bridgette whispered.

Moments later, when her heart stopped pounding and Marie started to squirm in her grip, Bridgette had to admit that she had been mistaken.

"I guess it wasn't her," she said, still whispering, just in case. "It must have been that police lady."

"Feet," Marie said randomly.

Bridgette frowned at her. Readjusting so her sister had more foot room, she wrinkled her nose in disapproval.

"What is _taking_ her so long?!" she demanded, slamming _Are You My Mother_ shut and dropping it on top of the growing pile of books on the floor. "They've been out there for ages and ages! By the time they come back, we're going to have gray hair! We're going to have arthritic knees and long, white beards and ear hair! We're going to be _ancient_ by the time they finish talking!" Her eyes got wider and wider and Marie giggled uncontrollably.

"Yeah, beards!" she echoed, bouncing on the bed.

"This is serious, Marie," Bridgette informed her solemnly. "If I don't teach you this stuff, who will?" She held up a turquoise watch with sparkly stones embedded in the band. "Lesson one: Do _not_ get caught with Ariel's watch. Not if you want to keep all your hair. And lesson two: It's been seventeen minutes since Ariel went out there with Detective Scanlon! _Seventeen!_ That's more than it takes to make macaroni and cheese! That's more than an episode of the Power Puff Girls!"

Unconcerned, Marie leaned past Bridgette, tottering dangerously on the edge of the bed. Her fingers just grazed the stack of books. "Read more," she demanded, struggling to get a grip on _The Foot Book _while her own feet hooked over Bridgette's shins as an anchor.

Grabbing a handful of her little sister's shirt, Bridgette hauled her back onto the bed. "Marie, this is not the time for _The Foot Book!_ _The Foot Book_ has nothing to do with our current predicament! How can you even _think_ about _The Foot Book_ at a time like this?"

Marie waved the book like a trophy. "Read more!" she repeated, louder this time.

"Okay, okay," Bridgette relented. "Jeez! Can't a kid take a break from Dr. Seuss without her little sister going bananas?"

Marie giggled. "I'm not bananas, you're bananas," she said in a gleeful rush, all her words smushed together in that way babies did. Bridgette couldn't help giggling with her. Opening to the first page, she began to read about feet. She would never have admitted it in front of Ariel in a million years, but she still very much liked _The Foot Book._ There was something really fun about a book that was brave enough to just be about feet and nothing else. At school, when Bridgette tried writing about something as specific as her feet, her teacher only told her to expand her vision, whatever that meant.

Patting Marie, she chanted cheerfully,

"_Feet in the morning, feet at night!_

_Left foot, left foot, left foot, right!"_

Three pages into _The Foot Book,_ Bridgette could almost forget what she was waiting for. She stopped listening for Ariel's step outside the door, stopped listening for strangers' voices in the hall. The rhythmic pattern of the words was soothing and her voice began to slow.

"_In the house and in the street,_

_How many, many feet you meet!"_

Marie yawned and snuggled down tighter in the blankets. Bridgette felt very proud of herself for being a good big sister tonight. It was an important job, taking care of Marie. Not just anyone could do it.

"_Left foot, right foot._

_Feet, feet, feet."_

Marie's head began to feel heavy on Bridgette's shoulder. It was nearly three a.m., according to Ariel's sparkly watch. It wasn't surprising Marie was tired. She was barely more than a baby, really, Bridgette thought, patting her knowingly. Any self-respecting baby would be tired at three a.m.

"_Oh, how many feet ..._" Bridgette mumbled as her own chin drifted to her chest. Her sister was sound asleep against her shoulder, soft breaths rumpling both their blonde hair.

"Maybe it wouldn't hurt to sleep just for a minute," Bridgette murmured to Dr. Seuss solemnly. "After all, I need to be rested if I'm going to be a great babysitter." She sank into the pillows and at last allowed her eyes to drift closed.

"_Oh, how many feet you meet ..."_

Almost immediately, images played across the insides of Bridgette's eyelids. She saw the funniest thing. Bare toes on carpet. Grown-up toes, to be exact, squishing into the hall carpet here in the house.

Bridgette's eyes popped open. It struck her as odd that a grown-up would be walking around in the hallway with his shoes off. The only adults in the house right now were police detectives, and police detectives didn't seem the type to take off their shoes even at night, much less in someone else's house.

Marie's sleepy finger tapped _The Foot Book_ again and Bridgette relaxed. She was just reading too much, that was all. Murmuring a sleepy reassurance, Bridgette tugged Mr. Snooky into the middle of the bed so she could share the teddy bear with her sister. Her ears kept listening for Ariel's feet or for the grown-up feet from her dream, but when neither came, her eyes drifted shut once again.

The toes were bare and the toenails were dirty. _Gross,_ Bridgette thought. Somebody needed a trim, too. She watched the toes with interest. How odd, to sit around sleeping, watching dirty grown-up feet pacing the hallway outside her bedroom. _This is not an average dream,_ she thought, then immediately thought how funny it was that she knew she that was dreaming.

Even in sleep, her ears were listening. Picking up a slight creak here, a rustle there.

A footstep.

Then another.

_Not. Ariel._ Her mind informed her, and her eyes popped open again. She sat up so quickly she banged heads with Marie, who had also jumped to a sitting position. Letting out a shriek loud enough to wake the dead – so to speak – Bridgette rubbed the spot where her head had banged her sister's.

Marie was much more interested in what she had seen than in the bump on her head. "Stinky feet!" she squealed, eyes round.

"Marie, shush!" Bridgette tried to quiet her sister, listening for the stranger's pacing feet.

"Stinky feet! Stinky feet!" Marie repeated, grabbing _The Foot Book_ and chucking it off the bed. It clattered to the floor and Bridgette slapped her hand over her baby sister's mouth.

"Marie! Shush! If somebody's stinky feet are about to march in here, we need to hear them coming!"

Marie obediently quieted, stubbornly tugging Mr. Snooky from Bridgette's nervous grasp.

"Traitor," Bridgette whispered, feeling the loss of the teddy bear more than she would like to admit. Very quietly, she reached down and got a grip on the hem of the blanket. She was suddenly terrified that any noise would alert the feet and their owner to her presence. Tugging the blanket a millimeter at a time, she eventually managed to work it up to her chin. Only Marie's wide eyes and the tip of her blonde hair peeked out. The two of them huddled together, eyes on the door.

_Creak. Creak._ Footsteps came closer. Bridgette took a deep breath in and out and then in again. It seemed like a lot of work.

"Don't be scared," she said to Marie in a frightened whisper. It was the best reassurance she could muster, and it was undone completely when the floor outside her door creaked again with the weight of a footstep and she screamed at the top of her lungs.

The door flew open and Detective Scanlon burst through it, gun drawn. Now even Marie had to scream as both girls hid under the covers.

"Don't shoot us!" Bridgette yelled wildly.

"Whoa there!" Detective Scanlon raised his free hand as he put away his gun. "No one's shooting anyone. You girls all right?" He seemed startled at the girls' reaction to his entrance, his eyes automatically casting around the room for any sign of danger. Bridgette's eyes roamed to Ariel, who looked more perturbed than frightened. It was such a familiar expression to see on Ariel's face that Bridgette felt immensely reassured. Cautiously, she inched the blanket back down to a reasonable level.

"Hi," she squeaked sheepishly.

"Hi," Marie echoed.

Hands on hips, Ariel shook her head. Then said simply, "Hi."

Lee looked from child to child to child, shrugged, and added, "Hi." Then, entering the room with Ariel, "Something the matter, girls? We heard screaming."

"We saw stinky feet," Marie said solemnly.

Detective Scanlon's brow furrowed and he nodded seriously. "You saw ..."

"Stinky feet," Bridgette repeated helpfully. "In the hallway. Somebody's walking around without their shoes on."

Ariel shifted uncomfortably. Glancing at Detective Scanlon, she whispered mysteriously, "Oh my god, he _was_ barefoot. He was in his PJs."

"_Who_ was in his PJs?" Bridgette demanded.

Ariel didn't answer. Instead she edged around the detective, reaching her arms out for Marie. "Did you fall asleep?" she asked her baby sister, lifting the child and her teddy bear into her arms.

Marie nodded. "Mm hmm."

Ariel forced a tense smile at Detective Scanlon. "Maybe it was just a dream," she said uncomfortably, neither of them looking much like they believed that there was such a thing as "just a dream" in the DuBois house.

Detective Scanlon smiled easily back, with all the reassurance he could muster. "Maybe it was," he said, backing up a step so he stood squarely between the children and the door.

"Did you dream, too?" Ariel asked Bridgette.

"I told you, we _both_ saw the feet! They were pacing up and down the hallway! We heard them, too," Bridgette added helpfully. "That's what woke us!"

Ariel peeked past the detective, peering out into the empty hallway. "There's nobody there now," she said with a nervous laugh. Then turned to Detective Scanlon. "Could your friend and that other detective have come by?"

"Maybe," Lee said, not looking convinced at all. Bridgette understood why. She didn't know Lee's friend or the other detective very well, but she figured if they had been walking in the hallway and heard screaming, they would have stopped by to see if everything was okay.

"Don't worry," Marie piped up in her sleepy voice, dropping her head on Ariel's shoulder. "No more feet, they're all gone. All gone."

Bridgette frowned skeptically. "Are you sure?"

"All gone," Marie repeated. "Mommy says." Then she drifted off to sleep once more.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thin Air  
**_Chapter Five_

She was alone.

No, that wasn't right. Not _alone. _There was definitely somebody else in the room, pacing in impatient circles. She definitely wasn't alone. But she was _lonely._

So maybe it was more important, now, to focus on that somebody else. To figure out just who it was who kept pacing back and forth at the foot of her bed. To figure out just what it was they wanted, and how to convince them to go away without getting it.

To focus on the details and ignore this pressing loneliness for a moment.

"Who are you?"

Even as she said the words, she was acutely aware of the lack of vibration in her vocal cords, the absence of sound waves against her ears. She had spoken, and yet she was silent. Somehow, here in this cool twilight, the idea made sense to her.

The somebody at the foot of the bed stopped moving and turned to face her. Without seeing him, she could sense ice-blue eyes and stubble, could hear his voice without really hearing anything.

"You know who I am."

She felt a chill, like an early freeze. The air frosted. She wished she could wake up and wrap herself with blankets and hug her warm children.

"Yes," she admitted. "I know who you are. I just don't understand what you're doing here."

"I'm waiting for you to wake up," he said simply.

The loneliness pressed in again, threatening to crush her with its weight. Of all the people she adored, of all the people she knew loved her back, why was nobody here but this hate-filled man? Why was she alone except for him?

"What good do you hope it will do you when I wake up?" she asked, fighting off the loneliness by focusing on facts. A lifetime of being psychic had taught her to use her intuition, but it was her recent years with the district attorney that had finally taught her to question.

"I hope that when you wake, you'll do the smart thing," her guest said as the air grew colder still.

"Which is?" She missed the vibration of her vocal cords, missed the feeling of breath leaving her lips. It was possible to miss the oddest things when you were lonely.

"If you give me what's mine, I won't touch what is yours," he responded in a voice slick as the ice that threatened to form on the bed, on the woman sleeping there.

"You will not touch what is mine." She repeated the most important part. She did not raise her voice and her eyes remained closed, but she spoke with a power that exuded from within. It was a tone that came out in rare moments, a tone that was equal parts mother and medium. This was not a tone to argue with.

Her guest was silent for so long, she might have thought he had gone, except the room remained frozen, her lips tinting blue and her hands beginning to ache.

So it was no surprise when his voice came once more. "You've got a choice to make, lady," he said.

"What choice? Whether to hand to you a small child who can't defend himself? Whether to let you take your son with you to the grave?"

"He's mine." The voice rolled out in hate. If it had been a real voice, out loud, in a real room, it would have hurt her ears with its sudden anger. "You don't have a right to keep him from me."

"You never had a right to keep him from his mother," she said. "But that didn't stop you. You stole that child in the night and you sent his mother on without him. Do you know how frantic she is? How angry she is? Do you know that she won't let you do this to him?"

"She's not the one with the choice. That's you."

"_What_ is my choice?" She had a feeling she knew, but, having learned to question, she had also learned that questioning had merits besides getting an answer. If she could delay him, just long enough for a plan to come to her ... just long enough for Holden's mother to help her figure out what to do ...

"When you took Holden from the house, I couldn't follow. I don't know why, but I can only follow you and yours. So it's up to you to get my son for me. To bring him to the house you took him from. If you don't do it, if you decide to be a stubborn bitch just like his mother, I will take from you what you took from me. I will take your children from your house. You will have nothing, like I have nothing." If his voice had pitch and pace and volume, all of these would have risen in fury.

"You can't follow him," she said, "because his mother won't allow it. I told you that." As she spoke of this strange child's mother, she felt her own child's sleepy presence, and panic and protectiveness welled up inside her. Marie had come looking for her Mommy in her sleep, a skill that seemed to come as easily to her as stating the obvious came to Bridgette, as sassing came to Ariel.

"Then I guess it's up to you and yours," the ghost said fiercely. From the tone of his voice, if a silent voice could _have_ a tone, she sensed he knew of Marie's presence.

"Marie, honey, try to stay awake," she whispered to her child. "It's okay, the bad man's all gone. Just try to stay awake for me, baby."

Without ever speaking, the little girl's presence faded from the room once more.

"Gone, am I?" he asked, amused, after a moment.

"You'd better be," she answered coldly. "If I find out you've been tormenting my children, you will not have help from me."

"Oh, I'll leave them alone. For now." He took a step and stopped. "But not for long. So you'd better get to choosing." With this, he walked out of the room, footsteps that never really touched the floor nonetheless echoing as they faded into the distance. For one long, lingering, painful moment, her ears ached with the silence he had left. Then warmth rushed in and she began to shiver, fingers dancing across the blanket she could suddenly feel, lips blowing actual air into an actual room.

"You will not touch what is mine," she whispered again, this time in hope and dread instead of power. "Please don't hurt them."

"Shh," someone said. "It's okay, Allison." A blanket was tucked tighter around her, a shockingly warm hand brushed the hair out of her face. She recognized Devalos, not family but at least a friend.

Allison swallowed painfully and attempted to open her eyes. She found she couldn't, not yet. The part of her that wanted to be awake, that wanted to inquire after her children and to ask for a second blanket, was losing the battle with the sensible part of her. That was the part that knew she needed to stay asleep, needed to keep watch on this ghost in the only way she could. She knew that others were busy being useful in their own way tonight – protecting, investigating, even babysitting. She knew that others were using their strengths, just like she needed to use hers.

Her strength had always been sleep. Sleep, and what she could do with it.

"Allison," the warm voice came to her again, but this time from a much greater distance. "Are you awake?"

As she sank from the warmth into the cold depths of sleep once more, she felt her vocal cords vibrate, felt the air push past her lips. "No ..."


	6. Chapter 6

**Thin Air  
**_Chapter Six_

Seven steps by five steps. That's how big the holding room was. Seven steps long, from the cracked wall on the left to the list of rules posted on the right. Five deep, from the two-way mirror in front to the lone bench against the rear wall. How anyone could use the bench – how anyone could stand to sit still on a night like this – Joe couldn't guess.

In the front corner, beside the mirror, was the object of his obsession, and every few circuits, he stopped to stare at it again. Tan like everything else in the room, the door remained tightly closed, refusing stubbornly to budge. With all his might, Joe willed it to open.

The police had brought him here almost an hour ago and absolutely nothing had happened since then. At least, he corrected himself, nothing had happened inside this tan space of five steps by seven. Outside, well, outside, who _knew_ what might have happened by now? To his wife. To his children. Joe's movements grew so urgent that he traversed the room in only six steps. Then stopped cold as his stomach clenched in dread.

He'd thought he wanted the door to open, till it did. The minute it swung inward, his instinct was to hide. To cover his ears like Bridgette in a fight with Ariel. To block out the bad news he felt sure was on its way. Forcing himself to act like the grown-up he'd considered himself for a number of years, Joe kept his hands tensed at his sides. He steeled himself to meet the gaze of yet another clueless police detective, but this time it was a familiar face he saw.

"Detective Scanlon?"

"Joe. How you holding up?"

"Have you seen her? Do you know if she's all right?" His words tumbled over themselves. He was talking the way Marie talked, smushing his words together.

Lee held up his hands, palms out, in a calming gesture. "She's going to be fine."

That wasn't good enough and Joe shifted from foot to foot. "Going to be?"

"Manuel Devalos is with her. She hasn't woken up yet, but the doctors think there's nothing seriously wrong."

"Nothing seriously wrong? It's -- " He glanced at his wrist, realized he hadn't been wearing his watch in bed when all this started. "It's late. It's got to be almost morning. She's been unconscious for hours. That sounds to me like something is seriously _not right!_" This last came out in a fierce whisper and Joe leaned forward a little.

Lee nodded a slow nod, conceding. Then shrugged one shoulder, raised one hand helplessly. "They're under the impression it's the shock and trauma keeping her unconscious. I'm under the impression they don't know Allison too well."

"What do you, what do you mean?" Equal parts dismay that his wife had not yet woken up and relief that the news wasn't worse. He sank at last onto the bench, ran his fingers through his hair twice. His hands were shaking.

Lee sighed, looked away uncomfortably, hands in his pockets. "I think she's … helping. Doing what she can. You know." He cast a glance at the two-way mirror. "In that way she can." Stopped for breath. "Manny said she was … talking. Some. To your daughter. And Marie said … well." He laughed uncomfortably. "I just think she's helping, that's all."

Joe looked up quick at this. "Are the girls all right?'

Lee's hands rose again, calming. "They're just fine. They're just outside in the car and the deputy mayor is with them. I'll be back with them shortly as well. I gotta tell you, you've got a lot of cause to be proud of your eldest. She's something else, that girl."

Joe wanted to smile, but discovered that he wasn't capable of it just then. "She's just like her mother." He stood again, unable to remain still. Began his pacing. "So what happens now?"

"Now you sit tight. Try not to worry. I'm going to pick up the little boy who's at the heart of all this and I'm going to take him and the girls to a safe location. Manny's going to stay with Allison until she wakes up, but he's making some phone calls. Once the children are safe, I'll be back to do what I can, see about getting you out of here." The detective started toward the door.

"What if he comes back?" Joe had a hunch his daughters knew more than he did about the likelihood of this problem, but he sensed it was a possibility.

Lee stopped, sighed shortly and ran his own hands through his hair. Looked sideways, then turned abruptly as if he had to force himself to meet Joe's gaze.

"If he comes back, one of your girls is bound to tell me, and then we'll deal with it."

Joe sank onto the bench again. It was not a reassuring answer.

"Sit tight, okay?" Lee was gone, and the tan door banged shut behind him. Joe had the sinking feeling it would stay that way for a while.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thin Air**

_Part 7_

The tiny truck spun on its top, around and around. Crouched on the carpet, eye-level with the windowsill, Holden Malmin flicked one finger to keep the truck spinning. Around and around. The biggest comfort he knew. "Fort" was the final syllable in "comfort." "Fort" meant a safe place, sometimes even a secret safe place. "Fort" was a good syllable to have in the word "comfort," Holden thought.

He had been aware for some time that his mother was sitting in the empty chair just to his right. She kept sighing, soft and distracted, the way she always did when he started to spin his red truck. She didn't say anything tonight, though, didn't reach out to stop his hand from flicking the toy to keep it in motion. He couldn't see her anymore and maybe that made things different between them.

On the other side of the spinning truck was a window, and on the other side of the window was the sunrise, painstakingly slow. Holden preferred not to see this. Morning meant Nanna would be awake and Nanna smelled like cats and perfume. Her pink lipstick made his eyes hurt. "Nanna" was the final syllable in "banana," but it was spelled different. Nanna was Daddy's mom and Daddy wasn't allowed in the trailer anymore. Mommy would sigh louder when Nanna was awake.

A knock on the door made the empty chair jerk as though its occupant were surprised, but Holden didn't budge from the carpet. Knocks on doors didn't concern him. They were just the babysitter or the mailman. The red truck wobbled and he leaned in closer to correct it. The sun inched up a little further in the sky.

The hallway creaked under Nanna's weight and she didn't see Holden as she went to the door. He could hear her talking, could hear another voice, too. He let the truck slow a little. He liked the other voice. It was quiet in a good way.

"Come in," Nanna said, and this was Holden's cue to let the truck slow to a stop. A stranger was entering his home. Quiet voice or not, Holden wasn't comfortable with strangers. "Coffee?" Nanna asked. Then, without waiting for a response, "He's still in bed, but I'll wake him. You know he has autism, right? He might not be able to answer all your – oh, there you are, Holden."

Holden backed up against the window. "Red truck," he said.

"Holden, you know you're not supposed to be spinning your truck," Nanna said uncomfortably. Then, "There's someone here to see you."

Holden put his hands over his ears. "Red truck," he repeated.

"That's okay," the stranger said in his kind voice. "You can keep playing with the truck, Holden. I just wanna ask you a couple questions."

"Mommy's sitting there." Holden stuck out his foot to keep the stranger from sitting in the empty chair. Obediently, the stranger back up, perching on the edge of the windowsill instead. Holden sank back onto his knees and flicked the red truck, sending it spinning again. Around and around. Less comfort with each spin. His fort had been invaded.

"How are you, Holden? I'm Lee."

"Leeeee." Holden tried out the new word. "That's the final syllable in 'silly.'"

The new person chuckled. "You know, you're right. I guess I never thought about that."

Holden flicked the red truck. "Sil-LEEEEE. Sil-LEEEEE!"

Nanna stepped closer and shifted from foot to foot, making the floor creak. Her hands twisted at each other. "Holden," she pleaded. "Shush. The man needs to ask you a question."

Flick. The truck spun so fast it nearly flew off the windowsill, but Holden was good at keeping it in place. He flicked it expertly till it spun where it was supposed to. He could feel Lee watching. He still hadn't looked directly at his new friend.

"Mrs. Malmin, I think I'll have that coffee after all," Lee said. Uncomfortably, Nanna shuffled off toward the kitchen.

Once she was gone and it was just the three of them – Holden, Lee, and Mommy – Lee squatted down to look Holden in the face. Holden let his eyes flick to Lee's for a fraction of a second before they moved away.

"Holden, has your daddy tried to visit you today?" Lee asked.

"Mommy won't let him. Mommy says he can't come in. My truck is a Tonka."

Lee looked at Holden kindly. "It's a very nice truck."

"Mommy won't let him in." Holden flicked the truck too hard and it slid sideways instead of spinning. He clapped his hands over his ears and let out a shriek. Nanna bustled from the kitchen, sloshing the coffee.

"What's got into him?" Holden heard her voice through his fingers. Lee moved to straighten the red truck, then set it spinning gently again. Lee's motions were awkward, unpracticed, but once the truck was spinning, Holden felt a little better. He let his fingers slip back to the windowsill and waited.

Lee patted Holden, then stood. "Mrs. Malmin, I'd like to take Holden with me to a safe house," he said. Holden ran through Law and Order and CSI in his mind and came up with a vague definition of "safe house" – something to do with a police car parked outside and a cabin in the woods. But Mommy sighed sharply, so Holden shook his head.

"Whatever for?" Nanna asked. "Is there some kind of danger?"

"We have reason to believe that someone is … interested in Holden."

Nanna tensed. "It's _her_ family, isn't it? The Martins." The empty chair rocked a little, but only Holden saw.

"Ma'am, I'm not at liberty to discuss that." Lee looked nervous. He glanced out the door at his car, and Holden followed his gaze. There was movement in the car, which caught his attention. Then Lee started speaking again. "Holden, how would you like to go for a ride in a police car?"

Holden backed up against the windowsill. "I can't go, Mommy says no. Mommy says no."

"Holden, your mommy would want you to be someplace safe."

"Home with Mommy is safe." Holden inched toward the empty chair.

The stranger looked from Holden to the chair. Then toward the door. "Your mommy wants you to stay in the house?"

"She won't let him in the house," Holden repeated.

The stranger sighed and stuck his hands in his pockets. Then he nodded. "All right. This might be the safest place for you, then." He looked back towards his car, then at Nanna. Then back at Holden. "How would you feel about some company your own age, then, Holden?"


End file.
